


The Jagged Edge of Loyalty

by onekisstotakewithme



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Kibbs (mentioned), McLilah, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-10 04:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10429290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/pseuds/onekisstotakewithme
Summary: According to the world at large, for all intents and purposes, Ziva David is dead. At least until a threat to a former friend's life causes her to resurface. She had sworn an oath, and she intended to honour it, even if it meant an untimely and unwelcome resurrection. "You are not just any partner, McGee." Set after season 13, with Tiva, McLilah, and Kibbs (the gang's all here).





	1. Prologue

She shouldn’t have come back to Washington. Coming back to the city had been her biggest mistake- second only to leaving in the first place. She missed the days when she’d swagger into seedy bars much like the one she was approaching, with unmatched confidence, and a badge on her hip.

But that had been a lifetime ago, before her world was taken apart with bullets and shattered glass. She was thinner now, her hair shorter, and the circles under her eyes never vanishing. And this time, she didn’t have anyone watching her back.

Opening the door to the bar, she made her way over to the bartender, pulling herself onto a bar stool. She’d come here due to a mixture of gut instinct and unreliable information, washing down the anxiety with a swig of lower-end bourbon, staring at herself in the mirror behind the bar. But there was a situation, anxiety had to be put aside, and there was no one left to solve this problem; no one but her.

Playing dead had only gotten so far.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the little kitty.” The voice had a drawl, but its owner sounded as though they’d smoked a pack of cigarettes an hour. “How many lives you got left in you? At least seven, by my count.”

She turned, raising an eyebrow. “I did not come here for the witty repartee, you understand. I was promised information.”

“C’mon then, kitty cat,” he grinned, which only served to irritate her further. He knew that she was reliant on whatever he told her, so he could try to get under her skin. She needed the information, but didn’t want to humour this donkey’s butt.

_Horse’s ass. Flip the switch. You’re back, sweetheart._

“Where are we going?” she asked, tearing her mind away from the painful memories. “This was _not_ part of our bargain, Mr. Beauchamp. My family won’t be appreciative if you kill me.”

“Last I heard,” he smirked, “All your closest kin thought you were deader than a doornail. Including that _paramour_ you left behind. Or wasn’t that what you wanted them to believe?”

She kept her face an impassive mask, trying to avoid thinking, avoid feeling. As she followed him out of the bar, she reminded herself: she had survived worse than a slimy informant.

A slimy informant, was in fact nothing compared to the crooks, thieves, spies and liars she’d dealt with in her line of work. Once in the back alley, she appraised him, narrowing her eyes at her source of information, a self-proclaimed Southern gentleman. “What can you tell me about the Gemcity file?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

“Why? I’d heard you were back in the game, but were you lookin’ to add his name to your kill list? Sorry kitten, that job is taken. You came a wee bit too late.”

“By who?” she demanded.

“By _whom,_ you mean.” He was smug, as he grinned, “You could stand a few grammar lessons, puss.”

“Who has the file?” She reached around to the gun she kept tucked in the back waistband of her pants, and his eyes narrowed.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he shook a finger at her. “Whatever you’re planning, honey, it’s not happenin’.”

She pulled the gun from its hiding place, “I want the information. You said you would give it to me. I was under the impression that I was dealing with a professional.”

He snorted, quirking an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Ooh. Kitten’s got claws. One of _my_ men pulled the short straw. He’s on the job right now. I’d offer a team-up, but I don’t hold with rogue assassins, even if they are freshly resurrected from the grave, and rarin’ to go.”

She smiled, “I am sure you don’t like to disappoint a lady.”

“Sorry, kitten, maybe we can work somethin’ out in your next go round.”

“Why is the file of interest to you?” she asked, holding up the gun. He eyed it, as though sizing up the threat. He valued his life, enjoyed his job of pretending to be threatening. As much as he acted like the puppet master, she knew him to be nothing more than a mook, a chess piece for the _real_ masters of the game. She was playing, he was trying to.

“That man’s got some enemies, don’t ya know? An influential genius like him?”

“One would think,” she chose her words carefully, “that geniuses are in short supply.”

“World’s full of ‘em. They’ll get over the loss of one measly one who wrote a couple of page turners and tapped on a keyboard. Nowadays, could probably train a monkey to do his job better ‘n him.”

“The same way my family got over me?”

His face changed, “Darlin’, I think you’re new to this part of the game, so let me share a little somethin’ with ya: that rabble-rousin’ posse _you_ call family _moved on._ They finished with you before you was even cold in your non-existent grave. You think they’ll welcome you back with open arms, girlie? After all you put those people through?”

“They would be glad to know I am alive.”

“Playing possum has a cost, kit. Hope you’re ready to pay it.”

“I will settle my debts. To do that, though, Mr. Beauchamp, I’ll need the name of your partner. The one who has the file I am interested in.”

“No can do, sweetheart. Confidential. I’m sure you understand.”

“Like the plot to kill me? I am not a fool.” She held the gun higher, “Do not make me kill you.”

“Listen here, honey. You’re not a fool, but ya only stayed alive through running. My boy is a little more discreet than you are.”

“The name,” she stepped closer, holding out her gun.

“And here I thought motherhood made you softer, sweetcheeks. What’s next? Take up like your daddy and ruin people’s lives? Or your brother, that charming fellow, go around sniping innocents? Lotta ghosts for someone so young.”

She spat the words, “I am not my father, nor am I my brother. They are dead. I am alive.” And then she fired her gun, double-tapping Beauchamp in the chest. She moved over his fallen body, “I am much worse. Now, tell me the name.”

“Gordon. Hugh Gordon.” He grinned up at her, “Bitch.”

“And where would I find this Hugh Gordon?”

“Carlisle. Indiana.”

“Intriguing location. Must have good intel to be sent so far from here.” She smiled down at him. “I think it’s time he and I have a conversation. I’d like to find out more, from him. Please, don’t cry out. Not very dignified.”

“Almost… as dignified as your fiery end. Go to hell, kitten.” It was a ragged gasp, the final words jagged.

“I’ll get there eventually.” She sauntered away. “But first I’ve got seven lives to go. Shalom, Mr. Beauchamp.”

It had started drizzling, so she pulled her hood up as she walked away, sighing at the feel of the rain on the healing burns of her hands. She left the two-bit mercenary bleeding out on the pavement behind her. She had once made a promise, and it was one worth coming out of hiding for. She was not dead. Not yet. And now she was on a mission more important than anything. Instead of going back to taking lives, Ziva David planned to save one.


	2. Thwarted

McGee grinned, “Yeah, Tony, I promise, I’ll call you as soon as we have a date. No, my ears haven’t recovered. Yes you scream like a girl. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Give Tali a kiss for me.” He hung up the phone and collapsed at the dining table.

Delilah wheeled in, hearing the end of the conversation, “Who was screaming? Is Tali okay?”

Tim grinned, “That was Tony.”

“That was _Tony_? He sounded excited. I’m guessing you told him, then?” She smiled.

“He got dibs on being best man.”

“I wouldn’t have expected any less.” She stared at him for a minute, narrowing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know Delilah, it’s just… strange.”

“Well this isn’t exactly conventional, but-,”

“Ziva should be here for this.”

She reached across the table and took his hand, “I know. And I wish she could be. I wanted to meet her, Tim.”

“She might not be dead,” he pulled his hand away as he stood back up, walking over to the window.

“Tim,” she sighed.

“The body was never confirmed,” he didn’t turn around, instead staring into the rainy night. “Why else would Gibbs be so calm about it?”

“Tim, do you honestly think she’s alive, and _didn’t_ reach out?”

“Yes! I do. Maybe it wasn’t safe for her to make contact. Look, Delilah, Ziva wouldn’t die alone and defenseless. It’s not like her. There are too many holes in the story.”

“Tim,” she said softly. He finally turned around, only to see his fiancée, shaking her head at him. “I know it’s hard, but please, don’t go down this path again. Don’t torture yourself.”

He walked back over to her. “Delilah, I…”

“I know it’s hard to lose friends, Tim. I haven’t forgotten.”

“We’ve just lost so many, and now Tony’s gone.” He frowned. “Off in Paris with his daughter. His and Ziva’s daughter. _Why wouldn’t she tell him_?”

“Timothy Farragut McGee.” Her voice was firm. “No more second guessing. Help me make dinner.”

“It’s only four-thirty.”

“Two sets of hands move faster than one.”

He smiled at her, “Any preferences for when the wedding is?”

“I like the idea of a spring wedding.”

“Spring? When in spring…? April, May…?” He trailed off.

“When do you want to get married, Tim? It’s not just up to me.”

“I know, but… I’m not much for planning things.”

She started laughing, “You know Ellie showed me your proposal video right?”

“Damn it, Bishop.” He smacked his hand off the table, “Now I _have_ to get back at her.”

“Don’t start anything, I’m not sure your new coworkers trust you enough to be on your side. And that Torres guy doesn’t look like someone you want as an enemy.”

“He’s okay,” McGee walked into the kitchen, “What do you want for dinner?”

“I don’t know if he is. I tried to invite him over for dinner, and he told me he wasn’t,” she changed her voice, and accent, to sound like Torres, “into, y’know, that domestic stuff, but maybe next time.”

McGee grinned, “Sounds like Torres.”

“He seems like he’s got some history. Quinn too.” She commented, following him into the kitchen.

“If he does, it’s none of my business.”

“Would’ve thought you’d be curious.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tim, remember Tony? Your partner?”

“What about Tony, my partner?” he asked, mimicking her tone.

“He overshared. No, don’t look at me like that, he did. He overshared. I know he was- _is-_ your best friend. But by the end, I knew almost as much about him as you did.”

Tim looked over at her.

“Well just because I didn’t share a shower with him.”

“We didn’t actually shower together, Delilah,” he explained patiently, rolling his eyes, tired of explaining this for the hundred and eighty fifth time. Yes. He’d counted. “Tony was an idiot, opened an envelope full of a deadly virus, we had to decontaminate. And it wasn’t _just_ the two of us. Gibbs and… and Kate were there too.”

“Kate.” Delilah noted the change in his voice.

“Yeah. Kate.”

“She’s the one..?”

“Yeah.” He set down the salad he was making. “That was Kate.”

“Tim, I-.” She reached over and grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“I know the team still misses her.”

“Gotta keep going.” He smiled. “Got a wedding to plan. How does May sound?”

She smiled back, “May sounds perfect, Tim.” He leaned down and kissed her, the band of her engagement ring cool on his face.

They were startled and broke apart at the sound of something smashing into the side of the building.

“What the hell was that?” Delilah asked, confused.

“My kisses are just earth-shattering,” he teased.

“Seriously, Tim.”

“All right, I’ll check it out.” He walked over to the window, and looked out, seeing- “It’s fine, Delilah. Looks like part of a brick crumbled off the building. You can stop worrying, no one is trying to kill us.”

“Well I’ve got you to protect me, why should I worry?”

“Delilah, I think you can look after yourself. And if anyone tries to kill me before I can walk you down the aisle-,”

“Then I’ll kill them before they get the chance. You’re not escaping.”

“We’ve made it this far.”

“You’re not allowed to die, McGroom.”

“Don’t let Tony hear you,” he mumbled, “I’ll never live it down.”

She kissed him, “That’s the general idea.”

**XNCISX**

She should have bugged the apartment. Instead she was sitting in an empty building from across the way, staring at the window that gave her a view of McGee’s apartment.

Not just McGee’s apartment. The apartment he shared with his fiancée, Delilah Fielding of the Department of Defense. When Ziva had left, McGee had just started _dating_ Delilah. A lump rose in her throat as she thought of the man he’d once been. Young, inexperienced, and rounder when they’d met all those years before. She regretted all that she had missed in his life.

She was losing her edge. She had to be.

She had nearly drifted into a doze, watching the happy couple getting home from work. McGee walked around the room, talking on the phone and gesturing, but without any microphones, she couldn’t hear anything he was talking about. By the look on his face, he was talking to-

Something caught her attention. The sound of footsteps echoing in the concrete halls of the abandoned building. She tensed, already planning her escape routes, assessing her weapons, before realizing she hadn’t even looked at her threat. She stood, stretching the sore muscles, and crept from her hiding spot. She could hear her opponent in the next room. Whoever else was hiding in an abandoned building was not a friend. Her own motives were questionable, but this was McGee. Her friend, the one she loved like a brother. She stuck her head around the doorframe.

A man, a stranger, was pulling out a sniper rifle. A rifle she recognized. The one she knew her brother had used to take down her predecessor. The one nicknamed the _Kate._

Her blood ran cold, as she realized the man’s intention. He was setting up that sniper rifle right across from McGee’s window. Which meant that whatever Beauchamp had in his file was dead serious. And was _about to get him killed._

She watched as he finished setting up his rifle, and then watched him take aim. Better not spook him until necessary, or then he’d shoot her and then McGee after. She dove at the last second, knocking him away as he fired. She had her gun to his temple, the trigger pulled before he could register what hit him. She turned to the window, watching McGee trying to find out what had just hit their building. She pressed a hand to her chest, both because of her heart pounding and because he looked _so_ thin. So much older than the last time she’d seen him- God, three years was a long time.

Moving away from the body, she sighed.

There was her proof. Someone had a hit ordered on McGee. And it was her job- dead and in the shadows- to ensure that his death didn’t happen.

One hitman down, many to go.

Nothing a rogue, resurrected, Mossad agent couldn’t handle.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback sequence, followed by a bit of exposition.  
> Some s 13/14 spoilers for sure

_It was very late at night, and the smoke was acrid and foul-tasting in the back of her mouth. She was watching her own home burn, knowing that there was nothing more she could do. She had escaped death yet again- only this time it had been a near thing. And her daughter- the most important person in her world- was safe._

_The assassin whose body was now lying charred in the ruins of what had once been her house, the ruins of her past, the last chain to the life and person she had once been, was the unfortunate one. Ziva had cheated death one too many times. And now, to the world, she would appear dead. It was her home, and there was a woman’s body there that would be too destroyed to ID properly._

_Ziva David was dead. She was also sitting in a tree, warming her hands on the remnants of her life._

_She had had a warning. She had gotten Tali out in time, had sent her to the one person she knew would look after her. She could only sit there, watching the sparks, hearing the crackle of the fire, hoping. Praying._

_Her family was a family of trained investigators. They would surely see the discrepancies. They would understand that she was not dead, that there was no way Ziva David, trained Mossad assassin and NCIS special agent, would die in a house fire, and her daughter would survive the destruction unscathed. Tony would-_

_The thought of Tony choked her with renewed grief. What would he be going through? Thinking her dead. Surely he’d moved on, maybe he’d found someone new in three years. She had said her goodbyes, and made her peace. And then she’d had Tali._

_She hadn’t thought he’d ever find out. She had taken precautions, because she knew; he would have dropped everything for her. And then the time had passed, and it felt wrong, because it had been secret for so long._

_“Congratulations, Tony,” she said the words out loud, her voice raspy from the smoke, “You have a daughter.” Clearing her throat so she sounded a bit more like herself, “We have a daughter, Tony.”_

**XNCISX**

She rubbed at her eyes, yawning from the two-hour nap. Staying in Washington DC had been a mistake, but she had to be careful. One attempt had already been made on McGee’s life, and she had to ensure that it wouldn’t happen again. She had fallen asleep in the window seat of her room, the city lit up in front of her.

She sat up, stretching, trying to feel how much pain she’d be in the next day if she slept the whole night in the window seat. Her face was cool from where it had been pressed against the glass of the window. It was October, and the leaves were changing, and her mind was on her family.

Her family.

She checked the time. It was late, nearly 2100, and she knew that if they were working a case, they would all still be at the Navy Yard. How would Gibbs react if she just walked back into the bullpen, returning from the dead?

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. She had to stop thinking about Tony and Tali, and how badly she wanted to find them. She had to stay focused. Wherever Tony and Tali were, they were safe. She couldn’t endanger them if they were safe. And what would she say to him, aside from an apology?

The heartache left her, curled up in the window seat, unable to do anything but stare out at the dark city, the lights blurring as the tears came. There was a lump in her throat. She missed it all.

Gibbs, Tony, Ducky, Tim, Abby, Jimmy… even Director Vance. The cases, the badge, the gun, the trust, the family.

Standing up and pulling the curtains closed, she walked over to the bed, wanting to put her ghosts to rest for another night.

**XNCISX**

The burn phone buzzed while she was still dozing, but she reached for it by reflex. She had been sleeping in two and three hour spurts for months now, and only when she knew she was safe. Being on the run had wormed its way into her mentality, leaving her constantly on edge. But, her sleep untroubled for once, she’d rested for eight blissful hours. Though still sleepy, she was wide awake upon seeing the text.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Where do you want to meet? I heard you had an interest in the Gemcity file. Willing to meet as soon as possible. –HG.**

She texted back a response to Hugh Gordon, wondering if she could lure the assassin away from Carlisle, Indiana, the curiosity over what the significance of one small town lurking in the back of her mind. Not significantly troubled, she went about her business.

There was a knock on the door, so she tied her robe tighter around her waist, and walked to the door. It was a concierge, delivering a package. She took it from him, looking it over, listening. She wasn’t a fool.

If there was something malicious inside- no.

There was an Eiffel tower drawn on the outside of the box. That was her informant’s signal.

She ripped open the box, satisfied, only to find a stack of books.

The very top one was labelled _The Devil You Know by Thom E. Gemcity,_ but there was a stack of about four in the box. She already had a ragged copy of _Deep Six_ in the bottom of her backpack, but felt she needed to know more about what she was up against. The very fact that the file was called “the Gemcity file” instead of “the McGee file” told her that the assassins knew about his double life. It was down to her to ensure that nothing went hinky.

Guessing that _The Devil You Know_ was the most recent of McGee’s books, she looked inside the cover to determine the order. With her other hand, she organized them from the second to the fifth.

_Deep Six: Rock Hollow_

_Deep Six: At Any Cost_

_Deep Six: Battle Scars_

_Deep Six: The Devil You Know._

As she looked through the list, she dropped the book. When she picked it open, it flipped to the dedications page, and then the lump in her throat was back.

_Dedicated to Delilah, whom I love and dedicated to Ziva, my former partner. Shalom Ziva._

Delilah. The fiancée.

And her.

_Shalom Ziva._ “Oh McGee.” It was a soft whisper, as she held the book to her chest. “You idiot, what did you get yourself into?”

Was this because of her? Because he’d mentioned her name in his book? Was that why he was now on a hit list? She stacked the books on her bedside table, as she checked the burn phone again.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: I’m at a café near the White House. Meet up?**

She texted a reply, wondering why he wasn’t still in Carlisle, and what had happened to lure him away from there. And then she slid _Rock Hollow_ into her bag, leaving the room. What was the connection between McGee, his writing, Carlisle, and the hit ordered on him?

“McGee, I do not know what you’ve gotten yourself into this time, but I cannot let you down.” It had been a stupid promise, one that she’d made in the spur of the moment, before her father’s death, before her resignation, before Tali.

Baltimore. 2011. A lifetime ago, really.

She had promised to McGee that if someone killed him, she would hunt down his killer and kill them. Because _he wasn’t just any partner._

And now, five years later, she had to keep that vow. McGee had always mattered to her, and she had missed so much. She would make things right, even if she had to die in the process.

And if that meant confronting the family and the truth she’d left behind… she would.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of exposition. Ziva (under an alias) meets up with her co-conspirator and gets caught up on everything she missed while she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you spot the "Princess Bride" reference, you win something  
> I don't know what ye, but something.

She looked over her shoulder every few feet, walking through downtown Washington, trying to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Being this close to the White House made her uneasy, without a doubt.

She had an alias, without a doubt, and could only hope that this assassin believed that “Ziva David” was dead.

She was a “cat”, according to Beauchamp- the memory of having to kill him came to her- and she had taken her last name off a poster nearby, unable to deny the allure of blending in somewhere.

Katherine Hamilton- Kit for short.

She pushed open the door, a bell ringing as she did so. A few people looked up. Hugh would be waiting at the corner table, sitting under the sketch of the White House being constructed.

She walked over, and stood across from him, appraising him. He had green eyes, and a crooked nose. No doubt it had been broken a few times, in his line of work. There was a long scar going through one eyebrow, but overall he was handsome.

He smiled at her, “You must be Katherine.”

“Kit, please. And you are Mr. Gordon.”

“No need to be so formal, Kit. Please,” he gestured. “Sit down. I don’t bite. Well, at least, I don’t bite beautiful women like yourself.”

“You are interested in the Gemcity file?”

“It is an interesting case, I’ll admit. And quite the rags to riches story, don’t you agree?” There was a smirk on his face.

“What did he do to attract an assassin?” she asked. “Never mind _two._ ”

“That isn’t important right now.” He leaned forward against the table, nearly upsetting a cup of coffee he’d nudged towards her. She hadn’t taken the offered cup, still not blindly accepting anything that could contain poison. Too many years had elapsed since she was among people she trusted. “Are you up for a challenge, Kit?”

“I live for challenges.” She smiled. “In fact, I take it as a challenge to remain alive.”

He chuckled. “As all of us in this line of work do, Miss. Now, as you surely know, Thom E. Gemcity is an alias.”

“Yes, I was aware.”

“And while one side is a mild-mannered writer, the other…” he paused, narrowed his eyes, and asked, “You understand that my boss is dead?”

“Yes. I was informed. He sent me before he died.” It was Ziva’s turn to pause. “Why?”

Very calmly, he looked her in the eye as he picked up his coffee cup. “Probably, you mean no harm.”

It was a test.

She thought it over, trying to recall the code, whilst outwardly showing nonchalance, and then it came to her. One of the nights when she and Tony were struggling to stay awake, in the summer. They were in lockdown mode, but Tim and Gibbs had gone to hassle Ducky. She and Tony had been left alone in the squad room. He had snuck them into MTAC, and borrowed the gigantic screen. She was sure of one thing at the time; it was unauthorized but such a typical Tony move that she could never find it in herself to complain. “I am really very short on charm.”

He nodded. “As you’ll know, Kit, his name is not Gemcity.”

“And I take it that you are not interested in mild-mannered alter egos?” she asked.

“Listen, Kit, you tell me; what’s more exciting? An account who does musical theatre on his days off or an assassin?”

“James Bond.” She replied.

He chuckled into his coffee, “Good answer. NCIS Special Agent Timothy Farragut McGee, works on the Major Case Response Team at the Washington Navy Yard.”

“I see. Sounds very threatening.” Tim could be intimidating at best… but then it had been several years since she had known him. “What else can you tell me about him?”

“Mother is still alive, though we have no current whereabouts. One sister, currently in law school. Father was respected Navy Admiral John McGee, died at the end of 2014. Cancer.”

Ziva paused, trying to hide the fact that she almost flinched. _McGee’s father had died?_ “Anything else?”

“He is currently engaged to Delilah R. Fielding, and they are living together in Washington. She isn’t much of a threat, according to Intel. She works as an intelligence analyst combating cyber terrorism for the Department of Defense. Was put in a wheelchair in 2014 after an attack on a gala she was attending, by infamous terrorist Benham Parsa.” _What an awful year for McGee._

“Engaged? And you want to take this man down?”

“Preferably before the wedding, you understand. Things may be… awkward if we were to assassinate the man on his wedding night.”

“I couldn’t disagree more. What has stopped you from attacking the target before now? Surely he is vulnerable sometimes?”

“I told you he worked for NCIS?” he asked.

“Yes, but what on earth does that have to do with anything.”

He dropped a stack of folders on the table. “Because he works with a whole team of special agents that could probably kick our ass with their hands tied behind their backs. Keep in mind though that one of the bigger threats to our success was neutralized in May of this year. Died in a fire, so they say. I have my doubts though.”

She held his gaze, “This is not a line of work for conspiracy theories, Mr. Gordon.”

“Call me Hugh.”

“What can you tell me about these co-workers, if they are such a threat?”

He tossed a photo down on a table, and who else would it be but Gibbs staring up at her. “Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Former Marine sniper, and _very_ good at his job, from what I’ve heard. No known family since his father passed away in 2014; wife and daughter have been underground for a few decades. Nothing shakes this bastard up.” He shook his head wistfully. “The man’s been blown up, taken hostage and shot- last year he got double-tapped at close range… and he’s still alive and kicking. Wish I had half his luck.”

The next photo hurt more, “Thankfully this poor sap isn’t as much of a threat- but I have no doubts he’d be called in, in an emergency. McGee’s best friend; Anthony DiNozzo Jr. If it gets to the point where we have to worry about him, it means that the wedding is near.”

“Do you want this wedding stopped, Hugh?”

“No but if it can be stopped, it means things aren’t quite as messy for our clean-up crew, correct?”

“Yes. Of course, you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” He was smug. “That threat I told you about? The neutralized one? She sent this man,” he tapped the photo of Tony, her Tony, the one she’d hurt, the man she’d left behind to protect. The one she was staying away from to save. “Off on a damn goose chase, thinking she was still alive. And the real kicker? He’s now raising her child.”

“Oh. So he is…?” she daren’t find out where he was, lest she take the next flight out to wherever he was, find him, apologize.

“He’s in Paris. With his daughter, and his father visits frequently. I’ve heard they’ve become a real family.”

“Ah.” It hurt. It hurt too much to think of, and she wished that the ache in her throat was not one formed of guilt and shame that she really wasn’t dead, that she had done such despicable things… she had let Tony believe she was dead. He was in Paris, right now.

But no doubt, he would be too hurt to hear her out. He would turn her away. _No he wouldn’t._

The next picture was a blonde woman, “Eleanor Bishop, native of Oklahoma, divorced, three brothers, former NSA analyst. Expert on Benham Parsa. Agent Gibbs recruited her.”

“Okay.” She nodded, trying to make it look as though she was paying attention.

“She looks like she’s twelve. Not very threatening.”

“No. But appearances can be deceiving, can they not?” she asked, meeting his eye.

“That they can.”

He slapped the next picture down, and she had to stop herself from exclaiming in surprise. It was her trainer from when she’d officially joined NCIS. She’d had an accelerated training, naturally, but she had met her all the same- but what _was_ her name? “Special Agent Alexandra Quinn. Born and raised New Yorker. Father died a few years ago, but mother is still around. Quinn is former field agent, and then was a FLETC instructor, training new agents.”

The next picture came down with surprising force. “Nick Torres. Deep undercover work for around a decade. It suited him, civilian life doesn’t. Good shot. Not much information on his background, he prefers to keep it that way. He’s a bit of a rogue.”

“And that is all the information you have on him?”

“I’m sorry. Do you want to do research next time then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m afraid it isn’t very exciting but…”

“Is there anyone else?”

“One more. A liaison officer.” She almost winced, but held the photo instead.

“Attached from where?” she asked.

“MI6. Big leagues.”

“All right. And?”

“Name of Clayton Reeves. Parents are both dead, had a couple of bad turns, some struggled with addiction, cleaned up his act. He’s a bit of a lone wolf, does suicide missions and the like. Don’t cross him, girly. He’s his own emergency contact, which tells you how much he has to lose.”

“How much do we have to lose?”

“Our lives. If you’re willing to take that risk, then you’re in. You’re involved. And there is no backing out, Kit. If you’re in, then you are _in._ No half-assing anything.”

“That is understood.”

He held out a hand, “Do we have a deal then?”

“I believe we do.” She shook it.

“Our first job is to do a recon mission, assess the exact threat the team poses to the success of our mission.”

“Then I suggest we not discuss something so essential when we are so close to the White House.”

“How patriotic.”

“You imply that you are not American.”

“I am. You on the other hand… are a freelancer, yes?”

“Yes. But I don’t think my personal qualifications count for anything.”

“My boss sent you, but he’s dead so I can’t call him. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d put him up to it.”

“I’ll meet you at the Capitol City Brewing Company restaurant downtown. In two hours.”

“You have somewhere to be, Miss Hamilton?”

“I have an urgent appointment.”

“Well, enjoy the freedom while it lasts. Because if any of this goes wrong… we both are punished.”

She stood, and left, wrapping her arms around herself in the October chill.

This was her chance to fix things, to sabotage this deal from the inside, to stop the assassination attempt on McGee. Logically, perhaps, it was a cold-blooded move. Prevent a friend’s assassination by joining the assassin’s team? Ludicrous certainly.

It beat hopping the next flight to Paris.

One thing was certain. She couldn’t be affected by everything that had occurred since she had left. It had been her own decision to go back to Israel. She could not go back and change it now. Her daughter was safe. Tony was safe. She had missed three years, and she had to let that go.

She had to focus on her job. But was she really doing the right thing?

There was only one way to find out.


End file.
